


Every Saturday Night

by HotPotIdiot



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (Nines) Richard is a stress eater, Amanda is tired too, Amanda sickfic, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has Panic Attacks, Connor blushes at the drop of a pin, Connor has asthma and anxiety attacks, Hank is here to serve bayby, Hk800 is also tired but here for the long run, Illness, M/M, Slow Build, but he’s also baby, connor is a disaster, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotPotIdiot/pseuds/HotPotIdiot
Summary: If you think Connor is tired, try being in love with him. Hank tries to steer him one way, and the guy deliberately goes the other.Saturday nights are like the only times he ever takes a break. It’s a short window, but Hank is in no hurry.——-This is the stereotypical, cliche ‘Android Hank takes care of his stressed, lonely little human, Connor‘. Nothing super unique about the plot here.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just an opening to see if you want to read this before you get too invested.

Connor flicked his cigarette into the ashtray he’d stolen and snuffed it out before he’d taken three puffs of the thing.

That’d been his new bad habit on top of another bad habit lately. Wasting cigarettes like they weren’t $6 a pack. They’d never brought him joy, but they didn’t even work as a filling pastime anymore, either. Nothing did.

Drinking didn’t, writing didn’t, grieving quietly over his wasted potential didn’t.

He pulled his glasses off, looking over at Hank standing idly in his charging bay. He had one of those, now- android rights and whatever. Connor wondered when they’d qualify for housing, but figured he was asking too much basic humanity of people again.

He did a lot of that when he was starting out here, which was too much to think about right now, prone to his anxious little tangents.

He turned his attention to what was in front of him.

A coupon book Richard gave him, which was only slightly embarrassing at this point. He’d accepted he was living like a college student more or less when he’d shoveled sugar packets from their little diner lunch into his pockets, and that was 6 years ago. At this point, his brother was making a habit of indulging his frugal lifestyle whenever possible to keep him afloat, with all Connor’s money going to cigarettes and booze these days.

But with both running out of the appeal they once possessed, Connor distantly wondered what new hazardous thing he’d be addicted to by the end of the week. Something Hank would approve of, of course.

As if there would be any room for his reckless lifestyle if he was to become the responsible adult he was looking into being- which would spark a lot more grief over his accomplishments than he could handle right now.

He was older than Richard and should be the one managing this crisis as dutifully as one should when their parent was sick, but this was it’s own guilt entirely.

Richard was far more capable than him in every way, but to expect him to handle their mother while she was like this was a whole other kind of despicable. He’d done enough handling their other twin when Connor certainly hadn’t at the time.

This was either karma or Connor getting his first dose of real responsibility, and he was too hopeless to know which it was. At the point it felt like a punishment, he supposed he was doomed to be a disappointment from birth.

His brother shouldn’t be so accepting of him, but in that sense, his mother *had* tried at one point to set him straight. Did everyone know he‘d been a lost cause from the start, and he was just now realizing it?

Why hadn’t his experience as a diligent detective translated to everything else? All the important stuff like remembering to get his bills paid, and how to talk to boys- or how to look into his mother’s insurance situation before shit was overdue.

Richard would not only have reminded him if he knew, he would have taken control and brought the burden on himself. It was an unspoken promise between Connor and his mother not to get him involved- though for very different reasons.

Sometimes those reasosns felt like a test. Like even with her health thinning, Amanda was still testing Connor not to fail her, pressuring him, demanding so much yet so little of him, but still expecting him to fail.

“Connor?” Hank said, now standing at Connor’s desk, light yellow.

Connor wet his lips and closed the little booklet.

“Hey, Tin Man.” He said coolly, like nothing was so obviously wrong with him.

Hank knew better, of course, because the metal bastard knew everything.

Connor was already reaching for another cigarette, adding to the ensemble of an overworked desk gremlin with all the cans of caffeine littering his workspace, his hair mussed, and leg bouncing anxiously.

Which was how he looked on a good day.

His worse days included ‘walk of shame clothes’ hidden and bunched beneath a blazer, eyes ringed, and dehydrated. More dehydrated.

“Sir.” Hank persisted. He’d come to know Connor well after he’d joined the department as a detective android. He worked better as an interrogative unit, preferring to let Connor do the legwork at a crime scene. Connor didn’t mind, in fact he would have preferred to work alone to spare someone else his bullshit, but he did think it was sort of interesting. What with Hank just standing there and acting like a guide more than anything. Ironic, since Connor had been ‘in operation’ longer than Hank had been alive.

But it was routine, now. Connor wondered why he even got a job like this if he was just going to watch him work.

Whatever, though.

“Really, Hank, it’s nothing you gotta worry your software over.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Connor doesn’t bother snapping back- another indication he’s upset about something. Though it’s not like he was trying to hide his newest problem from Mr All Knowing Supercomputer.

At this point, Connor’s going to need his help.

“Do you owe someone money, again?” Hank says dryly.

Connor glares at the coupon book, a smile threatening to split his lips.

“Nope. You ass... But you could say I‘m in debt in a way.”

Hank waits for him to elaborate. Obviously thinking the worst of him- truly he has no idea how bad it can get, though.

Connor swallowed. He glanced over at Richard across the bullpen binge eating another chocolate bar. Unlike Connor, his nervous habits revolved around stuffing his face, rather than depriving himself. Connor wanted to puke watching him- way too many sweets.

“You’ve never met my mother before. She’s....”

Hank leaned against Connor’s desk, arms crossed.

If he knew anything about his mother, Connor wouldn’t have to finish that sentence.

As it was, Hank didn’t, and Connor had no clue how to sum up a lifetime of Amanda Stern using only his words without mixing a few teaspoons of childhood trauma in. It was an experience you just had to live through.

Hank cocked his head. “Has something happened to her?”

Connor shrugged.

“Sort of.... She’s not well.”

“Oh?”

“I think I need to....” Connor nipped his lip.

He knew what he *should* do.

No nursing homes. No facilities. No dumping her off the way she’d tried to do to Connor once.

“I think... she needs to come live with me for a while... until she’s better.”

Hank stared at him. He wasn’t programmed with highly advanced facial recognition for nothing, and could see well enough from the pinch in Connor’s brow and the strain in his voice that he didn’t need to know this woman to see how stressful that idea was for the younger man.

Hank hummed, unable to weigh in on the suggestion. It was clear Connor wished he could though, when he looked up at him with big, worried eyes. He wished Hank could tell him whether he was a good son or a shitty one- he wished he could share some of the burden.

They’d gotten close enough as partners Connor was comfortable entertaining the idea that Hank cared about him a good bit. Even more encouraging was the security he found in Hank.

His calm demeanor, his sureness when he spoke. He came equipped to handle even the most stressful situations, and Connor could use someone with as much experience as he had dealing with hostage situations, since that was about the level of fucked up they were working with here.

“Is there something I can do to assist with that?” Hank asked.

Connor looked at the android’s single brow raised. It was like he knew Connor was going to be difficult about it before he’d even said anything.

On cue, Connor sucked another breath around his cigarette, delaying his answer.

“Maybe.”

If his face was feeling warmer, now, it was definitely because of his asthma battling with the putrid smoke in his lungs.

Because that’s how that worked.

“Yes, detective?”

“Uh... move in with me?”


	2. Moving In

Since Hank didn’t have a home and all, it didn’t sound totally crazy- except that it did.

The android stared at him and Connor was thankful he didn’t have his glasses on to see that customary frown of his in HD.

“How is that going to help?” He asked with perfect neutrality- making it harder for Connor to decide if he was put off by the idea or not.

Connor wasn’t sure if it was more like the moral support he could offer, the fact he would add another buffer between him and Amanda by being a new target, or if Connor was truly relying on his calm composure to do some of his thinking for him when things inevitably got heated.

Probably all that and a fourth thing, but none of it made for a very good reason why Hank should move in with him.

He didn’t have a charging bay for Hank or an updated repair kit. Everything Hank needed was here at the station or the nearest CyberLife store. Connor wasn’t exactly in the place to start stocking on packs of thirium either.

Unless there was a coupon for that.

“Sir?”

Connor sighed.  
“You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

/If anything, it should be the other way around./

Connor coughed just as he put his cigarette to his lips- trying to hide the pink splotches in his cheeks behind the motion, knowing Hank would see through it.

The android looming over his desk felt impossibly taller all at once.

Hank looked at the untouched water bottle sitting between them, wondering why Connor was getting so flustered, and reasoned a touch of humor might help relax him.

“Well, you don’t seem to like it when I call you ‘dickhead’ for chasing perps across the freeway, either.”

Connor bristled, whipping around to face the bigger man.

“Hey, I got that fucker! Lay off already!” 

He’d only brought it up a million times- using it like a guide for when to leave Connor to his own devices. Which was hardly ever, since the android insisted on leading them through any ‘dangerous’ doors, now.

Connor knew he had only been worried about his safety at the time, but he was anything but fragile. Connor only *looked* like a pale, lanky twig with no muscle mass.

Hank wasn’t particularly impressed that Connor had caught that guy either, which was a little disappointing when he’d sort of hoped for a few words on how awesome he was for needlessly endangering himself.

He took another drag of his cigarette then wasted the thing. Indeed, this new habit was a travesty.

“Look, it’s a lot to ask of you, I know... but I could use the extra hand, so to speak.”

Connor knew he should say why, but it was a bit difficult. He preferred to just ignore the mess he had waiting for him at home at all times than addressing it’s existence. He’d learned to live comfortably in his clutter, but once his mother saw it...

Connor huffed.

“I, uh... my place is not very clean, you know? It needs a lot of ‘work’.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Like, a good cleaning.”

While very little would ever hold up to the ‘Amanda standard’, his house was especially chaotic.

Hank hummed.  
“So you want me to move in and clean your house for you?”

“No! Well, yes... I can pay you.”

Hank chuckled- Connor didn’t think he’d ever heard him make a sound like it before.

Of course, the joke was that Connor *couldn’t* pay him for it, prompting him to shove the coupon book under his keyboard.

Hank continued to be an unreadable plastic bastard, and Connor wondered if he should go ahead and start apologizing.  
The much more honest choice would be to just throw everything out on the table.

“Ok, I know it sounds shitty, but I got to be real with you- it gets worse.”

Hank probably expected as much out of Connor and was mentally preparing himself to turn his only friend down. Still, Connor pushed onward.  
“I also... kinda.... uh, need someone to cook, too.” He wet his lips, trying not to think about Richard looking over there while his face was this pink and focused on Hank.

“So, yeah... I’ll need help with... that.”

Hank figured that was about the worst of it- ignorant to the biggest task of all being coexisting with Amanda- and finally gave Connor some insight on what he thought about all this.

“I’m programmed to handle a lot more than a little cooking and cleaning, but you should know, neither are my forte.”  
Hank’s light spun yellow as his lips formed a thin line. It didn’t look promising.

“I know it’s a lot to ask...” Connor started, not sure how to make it any more appealing than that.

Hank pretended to think it through, arms crossed over his chest, looking at the lights hanging overhead. Connor held his breath and waited for when he would eat his words and die shamefully over inviting Hank to come be his maid.

It never came, though.

“It *is* a lot to ask. So, how about I do all that, and you *don’t* pay me?”

Connor flinched at the thought of being another burden on somebody- especially the only person he cared to converse with these days.

“No, that wouldn’t be right-“

“At least not in money.”

Connor scowled.

“What?....”

He watched Hank unfold his arms and push off the edge of his desk, moving around it to face him. The grin he was just barely containing was throwing Connor for a loop. 

“C’mon, Connor, you’re a gambling man. You love taking risks.”

“I love indulging in coin slots to feel the fleeting thrill of winning.” He snapped. Anything to distract him from his shitty life for five minutes.

He did not appreciate where this was going.  
Connor glared at him, suddenly aware of what Hank was asking for- It spelled trouble for the unhealthy lifestyle Connor liked to keep.  
“Give up smoking while I’m living there, and you got a deal, Detective.”

“Jesus- what the fuck do you care if I smoke?” And why make a deal for it?

Connor was right to be worried- that was not a possibility. Not with the stress he was about to endure in the following weeks, possibly longer.

Hank didn’t budge or blink.

He finally had a chance to do this, and he wasn’t going to mess it up. Connor looked plenty unhappy about it, though- it wasn’t likely he’d agree to such a thing.

“*Or* you could stop drinking.” Hank shrugged. He looked down at the split between the worn sole of Connor’s shoe and the leather holding it by threads. The kid barely changed out of his work clothes and Hank could see that the same was true for his shoes.

Hank wasn’t going to lower his offer any more than that.

The young man looked perfectly confused about why Hank would ask him to choose between his two favorite evils in exchange for playing housekeeper, even waiting for him to say it was all just a joke.

Hank had never mentioned having an issue with them before- but, only because he hadn’t quite found an opening to.

His relationship with Connor was hard to describe. It was hard to explain what stake he had in Connor’s shenanigans an terrible choices.

Neither were the type to socialize and Hank’s relationship to him had only come out of their work. They probably wouldn’t speak a word to the other if they’d met outside of it.

So by all rights and reason, Hank supposed he shouldn’t be as attached as he was.

But, for better or worse, Hank had found himself *very* attached.

Best to keep that to himself, though. He’d noticed that Connor was quick to think himself a ‘burden’ on others for whatever reason.

“Hank... I really don’t see how me giving up drinking or smoking are suitable payments. You’ll feel the same once you realize how much I’m actually asking of you.”

“I don’t see a contract.” Hank shrugged again.  
“We can always change shit as we go.”

“Wai- hold on.” Now Connor wasn’t sure if *he* was in agreement with his plan.

He was starting to regret suggesting it- It wasn’t like he’d thought about it too hard.

Getting a roommate sounded like a way to help him manage his money and lifestyle a little better, but his mother under unfortunate circumstances became the first and only candidate. And that definitely wasn’t the kind of ‘management’ he was looking for.

Then Hank stood there across the room looking all stiff- and homeless.

Connor rubbed his temples, trying to push the building pressure out. He was doomed, as always.

“Ok... If I stop drinking so much... you’ll move in with me?”

“So, you’re giving up drinking then? I don’t expect you to quit cold turkey, of course. Let’s just see how long it takes for your mother to get back on her feet.

“And then what?” Connor cocked his head.

“I move out, I’m guessing.” Hank stilled.  
“Did you want me to stay?”

“No! I meant- I mean- well about that-“

Connor felt stupid for getting so embarrassed about a virtually innocent question, but he couldn’t control that. He seemed to always let things that echoed even the slightest bit of intimacy get to him- making him all flustered.

God, he needed a boyfriend, or something. ‘Something’ looking scarily close to hitting up the local nightclubs. It had certainly been awhile since he’d gone home with anyone. Working late nights and avoiding interested eyes made it a challenge.

Connor figured he probably shouldn’t broadcast that bit. Ever.

Hank took a step back to give him some space.  
“Connor? What d’ya say?”

Connor looked up at him. It felt like they’d somehow switched sides on the matter, as Hank was now bargaining with him to go willingly into a bunch of bullshit. Going sober, no smokes, whichever *was* indeed a bunch of bullshit, but Connor couldn’t pass up the opportunity, whichever way he looked at it.

Why Hank cared about his terrible habits was something he’d just have to overlook.

“Alright.” Connor grumbled.

For his sake, Hank didn’t look overly pleased about it, simply nodding his head before leaving Connor to think.

Not encouraging stuff.

He tried to ignore Richard looking his way again with that familiar worried look while he finished his first frappe of that morning. If Connor gave even the slightest bit of himself to his brother’s piercing gaze, he’d see how chocked full of nerves he was, ready to waste another cigarette and succumb to the pressure.

—— ————— ———— ——-  
—— —————————- ——

Hank arrived at Connor’s house a few hours later, vaguely wondering how he’d ended up on the shittier part of town. From what he’d said about his mother, Hank didn’t expect she’d put herself in a 5 mile radius of somewhere they’d conducted a search warrant before.

He could see why Connor hadn’t invited him over here.

Still, it was relatively quiet on Connor’s end of the block- the last house on the street. A brown house with grey shutters- isolated, ‘ordinary’.

Hank thought about the first time he’d ever met Connor. It wasn’t pleasant and neither were the first few weeks to follow. Connor didn’t seem adverse to him being an android as much as he was to having a partner. The captain hadn’t found him a suitable position at the department yet- Jobs for android’s were still a new and sensitive subject.

The law was the law, though, and Hank wasn’t denied entry. But he was denied his request for a different partner.

Starting out, Connor was *insufferable*.

Always late, hardly ever sober and smelling like tobacco and booze. That didn’t bother Hank so much, but it would bother the people they’d be trying to make an impression on. This was a dog eat dog world for androids, and Hank was fighting just to have his job and basic rights. Those were laughable really, considering the way the laws on androids were passed.

Connor was anything but average or ordinary, though, and Hank doubted he’d seen the full scope of Connor’s brilliance.

He doubted if Connor had seen the full scope of it.

He was ahead of his class, was on his way to a substantial promotion and a well deserved one. Connor hadn’t been given anything, and whatever name he’d made for himself- good or bad- he’d earned it the hard way. That included the fine work he did in this job and how far he’d come with it.

But like this house, Connor wanted to be a wallflower, a loner- hidden away from the rest of the world.

In Hank’s opinion, the rest of the world didn’t deserve him anyway.

He ignored the door bell and knocked three times on the siding. Connor had warned him the bell wouldn’t work, and that the door was ‘sort of muffle-y, so the shutters shaking will be easier to hear’.

Sure enough, Hank could hear panicked footsteps cross the threshold, do a little dance at the door he figured was Connor deciding if he was forgetting something before answering, and then-

“Hank!”

The door swung open and there was Connor. Since Hank had seen him, he’d changed. Now donning a navy blue hoodie with the silhouette of a German Shepard on it, and the words ‘Super Pupper’.

Connor looked him over, then looked down at himself. Right.... ‘Super Pupper’....

He smoothed his hand over his stomach, stretching the worn fabric over the hoodie’s pouch.

“I, uh, spilled some sprite on my shirt.”

Hank doubted it was sprite. Instead of stressing the importance of Connor keeping to their agreement, Hank nodded politely.

It was a little odd seeing Connor out of one of his button downs with its sleeves rolled up, slightly untucked. Always a few threads loose.

Connor seemed to notice it was weird for Hank to see him without it, too, and looked awkwardly at the space between them as the silence grew.

“Um, please come in.” He mumbled.

Connor moved from the doorway so that Hank’s giant frame could push through. Connor tried not to stare.

So did Hank.

Once inside, He could see that the house was... very telling. In fact, it told him that Connor was the kind of guy to take showers with his dog, if he had one, and eat pizza over his sink.

Hank couldn’t stop staring at the mystery smudge on a particular couch cushion.

He could anazlye it and find out in seconds what the white stain was- programmed to identify much more corrosive substances. But he was more interested in whether it would hold up to the scrutiny of his mother if a dab of Clorox failed to clean it, rather than shaming Connor with his analysis.

The young man was clearly embarrassed about the state of things, and Hank knew he could use a bit of a break. Hank moved the conversation to his mother.

“When will Ms. Stern arrive?”

“Oh, she’s already here.” Connor pointed to the end of the hall where Hank supposed his guest room was. Only the layout of the house didn’t offer more space for a spare room than a bathroom and master bedroom- and one door leading to the garage Hank had seen coming in.

Connor could see the gears turning in Hank’s head, and was keenly aware he’d sort of fucked up. He’d forgotten to explain the guest room situation to him.

“Don’t worry! The spare room is in the garage. It... uh... it’s cleaned out real nicely.” And perfectly suitable for a willing roommate to crowd themselves into.

Connor had promised a spare room- he delivered poorly.

Aside from that, Hank was a bit... bigger than most, and he’d need some more space.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much, I know, but it’s where I was gonna stay while my mom was living here.” He murmured, rubbing his neck. He felt stupid saying Hank deserved the second hand treatment he was going to put himself through when this must be painfully less appealing than his pod at the station.

Truthfully Hank wasn’t thrilled, but not because of the makeshift guest room.

“Connor, where are you going to stay?”

“Oh! I’ll be out here- right on the sofa.” Connor moved around him to pat the back of his couch- which was a little too close to the front door for Hank’s liking.

There were windows in his living room, and anyone could look in while he was sleeping. It wasn’t safe. Not by Hank’s standards.

He examined the place, again- each window that was missing curtains. The fridge in the corner of the cramped kitchen he’d need to see if Connor’d stocked with food. The bags of luggage at the end of the hall he assumed were his mother’s.

He spotted Connor nibbling his lip, trying not to think about Hank judging him too harshly. He’d have every right to.

Hank breathed in, clearing his airways of the layer of dust he’d inhaled, still full of questions. One in particular was eating at him.

“Does Richard know about your mother, Connor?”

Silence. And the barest glint of terror in his doe brown eyes.

Hank was already deeply worried about his future here not 10 minutes in.

“Oh, Kid...” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
“You can’t keep this a secret forever.”

“I could, too!” He snapped. He moved away from the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and standing tall. This was as sore a topic as Hank had predicted it’d be.

“I kept my smoking a secret for *years*!” And would have gotten away with it, if Richard hadn’t of met the guy Connor’d taken up cigarettes for.

That was it’s own disaster, and sadly, Connor couldn’t say he’d outgrown those bad choices.

Hank took a step closer, knowing Connor nearly toe to toe with him wasn’t one to cower because of Hank’s size.

“I think I’m going to be more trouble than help here.”

“No, trust me! I- I need you here! The house is a mess, my mom is knocked out on painkillers, I *can’t cook*!”

“Calm down-“

“And I forgot to get olive oil on the way home! I’m already forgetting things, Hank!”  
Connor ran his hands through his hair and scrubbed at his face.

Hank wanted to reach out and stop him, but kept his hands at his side, not having his permission to touch.

“I forgot to get olive oil and milk, and I only just remembered the milk!”

“Come on, take a breath, Detective.” Hank urged him to slow down.

He’d never seen Connor become shaken so easily before.

Hank checked his vitals just to be sure- accelerated heartbeat, heavy breathing.

”Take your inhaler, Connor.”

The man frowned, but dug around the pocket in his hoodie until he had the thing in hand.

“I *know* my limits, Hank.”

Connor pushed down once he had it in his mouth, waiting a moment and breathing in.

Hank didn’t bother reminding him how little Connor actually knew about his limits. The man would push himself to death and beyond if it meant getting an extra hour of work in.

Instead, Hank moved to take a seat on the couch, beckoning Connor to join him.

They were quiet for a moment as he collected himself.

They had little moments like this at work, too. Hank had learned early on that Connor constantly pushing himself had an extreme side-effect- as with many of his organic counterparts. Anxiety attacks.

Connor handled them about as well as pushing them down until he was a shivering mess could go. Hank was hopelessly lost on what to do when he got like that- the best way he’d found to battle the little terrifying spells- not that he’d admit to being terrified- was to stop them before they got out of hand.

Without Connor realizing it, Hank would lead him somewhere quietly to sit and think before they moved forward. It could last for quite a bit, at least until Connor had worked it out of his system.

It wasn’t the most time sensitive solution, but it was safe.

He watched Connor stare blankly at a plaque on the opposite wall with some kind of oath to a fictional guild engraved in it. ‘Ravenclaw’ etched into the silver finish- whatever that meant.

Connor absently read the words over and over, again, finally calming down.

It would normally take days worth of skipped meals, and a case with no leads to make Connor anxious enough to have an attack. The fact that he was brought this quickly to one was *very* concerning.

He really did need Hank’s help- but if Hank was going to have to revise his approach to these little attacks somehow, he feared he was going to come up considerably short of one.

Strangely, it was enough to pull a laugh out of him- the product of his own stress building.

“The universe just ain’t gonna cut you a break, is it?”

Connor looked at him. It wasn’t even dark out and the young detective already looked so tired.

That unexplainable need Hank felt to protect the him warmed his chest- his pump working fast.

“Look, Connor, I’m not going anywhere. You clearly need the help. Besides, you’d be a fuckin’ mess at work if you had this to come home to.”

Connor would laugh if it wasn’t so true. He couldn’t stop the grateful little smile from spreading, though.

“Thank you, Hank. I’ll make it worth your while... Somehow.”

“No need. Just point me towards your cleaners.”

“My what?” Connor asked sheepishly. 

Hank’s light turned a steady gold color, as blue eyes found brown. Of course...


End file.
